Walking dead

CHAPTER

Twenty Miata licked my hand, then, exhausted from the effort, dropped his muzzle back to the blanket he lay upon and shut his eyes once more. I stroked his neck, scratched behind his ears, then rose and crossed the expansive room back to where Alena sat on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, watching me. She'd purchased clothes that fit, Levi's and a black T-shirt, her feet bare. The bandage on her upper arm peeked out from beneath the sleeve, fresh white gauze that still smelled sterile.

"Did you speak to Iashvili?" she asked.

"Oh yeah." I moved to the window, parting the curtains enough to look out. It was after midnight, and the traffic on Primorksy Boulevard was light. Somewhere nearby, I had been informed, were the famous Potemkin Steps, but if they were visible from where I was standing, I didn't see them. I let the curtains fall back.

"Did he know who they were?"

"Business associates of the men who took Tiasa."

"The men you killed in Batumi."

"That would be them, yeah."

"He had no names?"

"He told me the names didn't matter." I moved to the bed, sat down beside her and began unlacing my boots. "He says they'll try again."

"That seems possible."

I pulled my boots free, set them together on the floor, then flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The ceilings in the Londonskaya were high, easily fourteen feet, painted yellow-gold. The hotel was Old World, built in the late 1860s, one of the finest in all of Odessa. I was pretty sure the chandelier hanging in the center of the room was real crystal and not simply cut glass.

After a moment, Alena lay down, as well. "You haven't told me about Dubai."

"It wasn't good."

"I would like to hear it."

I told her, and she listened, and when I was done she didn't speak for a long time.

Then she asked, "Did you sleep with her? Kekela?"

I turned enough to look at her. She didn't move, her face in profile.

"You really have to ask?"

She closed her eyes, then shook her head once, slightly.

"But you asked anyway."

"I apologize," she said.

I sat up, angry, knowing I should let it go but not wanting to. "Why would you ask me that? Why the hell would you ask me that?"

Her eyes remained closed, and her mouth went tight. "I apologize."

"I don't want you to apologize, I want to know why you would even think that."

She didn't say anything.

I got up again, agitated. "You're the one lying to me, I'm not lying to you."

That brought her back, and she pushed herself up enough to rest on her elbows. "I haven't lied to you."

"I know you didn't go to Tbilisi to meet Nicholas," I said. "So, yeah, you did lie to me."

Her expression washed out, turning neutral. She moved slowly to sit fully upright, her feet on the floor, her hands at her side. She was watching Miata, once again asleep.

"Yes, I did." She moved her gaze to me. "I went to see a doctor."

I stared at her. "And you couldn't tell me that? If you wanted to look into another surgery on your leg, you could have told me that. We could go back to Switzerland, or Germany; there are better places for that than Tbilisi."

"It's not my leg. I'm at thirteen weeks."

"You're at thirteen weeks of what?" I asked.

She stared at me like I was an idiot. Since I honest to God had no idea what she was talking about, I stared right back at her, waiting for an explanation.

"I'm thirteen weeks pregnant, Atticus," she said.

I kept staring at her, still waiting for an explanation, because I was sure I hadn't heard that right. "What?"

"I'm pregnant."

The words rolled around my head for a few seconds.

"Say something."